


But I Can Tell You Exactly How This Will End

by Nevcolleil



Series: Skewed [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: (If I Ever Finish This), Alternate Universe, Episode: s05e19 Time Bomb, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13563645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: Wesley uses Illyria's leaps through time to an advantage. Not his own advantage, per se... (But perhaps there's still time for that. For some version of him, at least.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Livejournal account, and I've moved it here. This is a series I never completed writing... but hope springs eternal :p and I still enjoy the idea.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time…

Or. No.

Terms like “good” were misleading. His perception of “good” and “right” had become skewed. It had seemed like a plausible idea - as plausible to him as all things were in the absence of sanity. And Illyria’s time-shifting ability presented such a seductive tool…

Perhaps there’d been a time when he’d have realized the danger in trying to harness that much power; trying to use it for good. But that time had passed. He couldn’t not have tried. If there was any way he could change things for the better…

Illyria withdrew her fist, allowing the corpse impaled upon it to drop to the ground.

Well. Things had certainly changed.

The for better remained to be seen.

Wesley lay in the entranceway of the old Victorian where he and Illyria had confronted the now-deceased Holtz. His legs were stretched out before him, carelessly, and his shoulders were propped up against the wall behind him. He was covered in his own blood. That, he hadn’t been able to prevent. He and Illyria had shifted into the moment when Justine had slit his throat, before he’d realized that that was the moment they were shifting into.

Illyria’s odd, blue eyes had actually widened - in surprise and even, perhaps, concern - as she’d wrapped one gloved hand around his wound. With the other she’d batted Justine away - swatting at her like a fly, and sending the woman flying several feet into the air. Her magic - wild and unrestrained now that the god-king was in a type of temporal flux - had poured into him everywhere they’d touched. 

Wesley wasn’t certain she’d meant to do it. But one minute he was well on his way to dying, desperately clutching the bundle suddenly resting, as it had so long before, in his arms. And in the next Illyria had somehow stopped his bleeding.

It began again later. After Illyria had gotten Justine to tell them where Holtz had gone; after they had cornered the man here. But the temporary reprieve had been enough to stay Wesley thus far; to get him here.

To Connor. To seeing his past - and his future - change right before his eyes.

His body would soon go into shock. Wesley knew this as his rent flesh began to bleed profusely and he began to shake. The infant in his arms squalled. Wesley put all his strength into holding the boy close, the blood loss already weakening his grip.

Illyria staggered to his side and knelt.

Wesley blinked to focus his eyes on her. He could no longer move.

“You need medical attention,” she spoke in that almost familiar monotone. Only the slightest quaver of her voice betrayed her own pain. Thin cracks were beginning to form in Fr- In Illyria’s shell.

Wesley opened his mouth to ask Illyria if she could find a phone. But no more than a gurgle, and a mouthful of blood, proceeded the attempt, so Wesley froze.

His head swam. 

It startled him, therefore, to realize that the strange pressure that had been steadily increasing around his fingers…was Illyria. Holding his hand.

She had gone and returned with a phone from the other room, its cord just reaching far enough to be set at Wesley‘s side.

She squeezed Wesley’s fingers anew, and pressed them against the phone’s keypad as she raised the receiver to her ear, awkward.

“This world will hold me no longer,” she explained.

Wesley maintained consciousness long enough to mime pushing the buttons on the keypad, then Illyria followed his movements, pressing the keys he was too weak to compress fully. Wesley blacked out before he could hear her carry on a no-doubt surreal conversation with the hapless 911 operator on the other end of the line. He came to again to see Illyria gazing at him intently. She had leaned in so close, if she’d breathed he would have felt it.

Then Illyria reached out, and sank her fingers into his wound.

The pain was breathtaking. As was the exhilaration, as Illyria channeled her magic into him once again. Wesley wouldn’t have known what to say if he’d had the lucidity, and the undamaged vocal cords, to say it. This had not been a part of their bargain. He had helped Illyria maintain her god-like powers, and her human form, in exchange for the chance to tag along on this trip through time. Now Illyria was helping him heal, using the strength she would need to find a safe dimension to shift into, and to recuperate from the magical strain of their journey.

Illyria withdrew her hand just as Wesley felt oblivion creeping up again; her touch lingering near Wesley’s cheek and his now self-sealing wound. Her head was cocked to the side in trademark curiosity, and her brow was furrowed, as if in confusion. Wesley fought to keep his eyes open and to breathe with some semblance of regularity.

Illyria’s eyes were beginning to glow. 

Words tumbled around Wesley’s head, and now that the taste of copper had somewhat receded - now that he felt almost capable - he spoke.

“Thank you…” was all he managed.

Illyria simply watched him.

It seemed to him that he had only blinked, but he must have passed out once more. The next sight to greet his bloodshot eyes was a figure standing at the end of the empty entryway, and the feel of Connor squirming in his lap - dangerously close to falling out of Wesley’s arms.

Wesley tightened his grip on the baby and wished he could focus his eyes long enough to identify whom or what had found them here in Holtz’s home.

He hadn’t realized his eyes had actually fallen shut until he felt someone trying to take Connor from him and snapped them open.

“No-”

“It’s alright. Shh. It’s alright, Wes. It’s me.”

‘Angel.’

Wesley thought he heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.

Suddenly, he could feel. Not just physical sensation - which was all he seemed to have felt in some time. Emotion. Hope.

Angel was here. And he was scooping Connor into his arms. Illyria had taken care of Holtz and Justine - she and Wesley had taken care of Sahjahn and Lilah’s tac team in the shift before.

They had done it. He had done it!

He’d set things right - and all with the aide of the Old One who’d taken away the only right thing he’d had left in his life.

“A-” Wesley’s eyes fluttered back shut before he could finish. Angel quieted him and said, “It’s alright. Help’s coming, Wes. Just- You’ll be alright. Just hold on.”

“Con-”

“Is right here. We’re right here.” Angel’s voice sounded peculiar, and very far away. Wesley could still hear his old friend speaking, but the words were fading until he could no longer understand them. Wesley let himself fade with them.

He couldn’t smile or weep, but wished that he could do both.

He didn’t realize that the vampire hugging his son, and clinging to Wesley’s hand, was weeping for him.


	2. Into the Fray

_**Years later...** _

 

He wasn’t sure how he’d done it.

Often he found himself in situations he couldn’t explain, but this was different. Portals were easy enough to get sucked into - you could ask his Aunt Fred or Uncle Lorne. But Connor had been on that rooftop to _save_ someone from being portalled away. Falling into the portal himself was _embarrassing_.

Not to mention painful. Connor landed right on his a… Right on his _rear_ (Aunt Fred was still bugging him about cursing too much). And portals always gave Connor a headache, not to mention a queasy stomach. Connor hated having a queasy stomach. It got in the way of eating. 

It didn’t immediately occur to Connor that he might have bigger problems - having come through a portal into a world that _looked_ the same as his own, but probably held a whole lot of nasty surprises (worlds on the other side of portals usually did) - than sore muscles and a loss of appetite. Then Connor stood up, and a hand grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Connor met a pair of angry, blue eyes attached to a man who didn’t look happy to see him. And who had a mean-looking shotgun slung over one shoulder. 

Bigger problems began to occur to Connor like crazy.

“Whoa. I’m not looking for trouble, pal, I-”

The man was speaking at the same time as Connor:

“How did you get up here? This is private property. Have you any idea what could have-”

At this moment three options presented themselves to Connor. All three related to the different methods Connor used when approaching an adult’s disapproval. 

Option number one involved Connor’s being outwardly contrite and attentive, as he was told what he’d done wrong and how he would be punished for his behavior. This was the approach Connor used only on his father, who expected as much and - Connor figured - deserved the respect such an approach implied. Certainly few fathers would punish their sons by having them dismember newly slain Tonra demons, or scrub Haklaar remains out of the kitchen curtains. But, then, few sons had to be told more than twice not to borrow the crossbows without permission, or to wait for back-up before crashing a Shikarin virgin feast. 

Connor doubted very much that the man with the shotgun would care for his contrition, real or contrived.

Which left options two and three. Option two involved Connor’s charming his way out of trouble, or - in Uncle Lorne’s case - _bribing_ his way out of it, by promising not to charm Aunt Fred into getting Lorne to go with her and Spike and Connor to another alternarock concert. This approach Connor used on the other members of his family, save Uncle Gunn, who’d become wise to Connor’s tricks and was not above smacking him on the back of his head. 

Option three involved Connor’s saying something smart - and probably stupid - and going about his business as if nothing had happened. Ry called it Connor’s idea of being a “people person.”

Option three seemed like the ticket - Connor could take this guy down if he went for his gun (probably. The guy smelled mostly human). And, really, what was Connor being disapproved for? He didn’t _like_ falling through portals onto rooftops in other dimensions. He hadn’t chosen to fall through the portal that had brought him here. And if shotgun guy was that adamant about it, Connor would get off his damned roof and wait for his father to come for him elsewhere. 

Connor was about to say as much to his companion when he became distracted by the seven-foot-tall creature that had swooped down beside them. 

Only then did Connor realize that his companion smelled “mostly” human because of the traces of demon slime staining his jeans and jacket, and coating the blade of the axe Connor saw strapped to the man’s back as the man turned towards the demon coming towards them.

“There were two of them,” the man was saying to himself, most likely unaware that Connor could hear him.

Which would be why the man wasn’t running, as humans who weren’t Connor’s Uncle Gunn, or Lindsey MacDonald, tended to do. 

Instead he was shoving Connor to the side, before Connor had thought to react, and freeing his axe with one hand as he lowered his shotgun to the floor with the other.

“Get down!” the man yelled at Connor, then charged the demon as it began to shriek in a high-pitched tone that raised the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck.

Connor blinked, looking from the man and the monster, to the man’s shotgun, and back.

Well, what else was he going to do while his Dad found a portal to bring him back home?

Connor hurried over to the shotgun and picked it up, wishing he had the axe instead. No one in his family was very big on guns, but if worse came to worse, he could always use the shotgun as a club. Connor wasn’t half bad with clubs. 

Connor took a moment to steel himself, as he always did before battle, and gave the demon whose kneecaps the man was currently taking a swipe at, a wide, cocky grin.

Then he jumped into the fray.


	3. Special Occasion

For not being able to remember much about his own father - and almost wishing he didn’t remember much of what he did - Angel thought he’d taken to the responsibility of raising a son rather well.

Sure, he screwed up on occasion. Or. On more than just _occasion_ , if you asked him. Angel was constantly rethinking, and double-rethinking, his actions when it came to Connor. He so badly wanted to do right by the boy. 

But he meant well. Angel never let Connor go without something he needed, or desperately wanted. He never let his mission for the PTB come before his duty as a father to be there for his son, and for the family he’d worked hard to maintain as much for his own sake as for Connor’s. 

Above all, Angel never let Connor be harmed unnecessarily. He tried to protect the boy from the danger inherent in his line of work, and the lifestyle he and the others lived. He’d learned he couldn’t shelter Connor from any of it. Angel’s wasn’t the kind of life you could segment into halves and hope that the pieces wouldn’t someday crash back into one another. Early on it had become apparent that Angel was meant to fight _alongside_ Connor, not just in defense of him. And once Connor had gotten older, it had become equally apparent that Connor would accept nothing less. If Angel tried to keep Connor out of the trouble he, as a Champion, had to face, Connor would just go out and find an entirely different kind of trouble to get into. 

Of course, to say that Angel had learned not to try and shelter Connor, wasn’t to say that he had to _like_ it. Angel would be the first to admit that, perhaps, he was a little overprotective. Or tried to be. Considering that Connor was about as stubborn and hard-headed as some would say Angel was himself, being Connor’s father made over protectiveness a challenge. As if trying to keep a human boy with the strength and senses of a vampire, totally revved up by adolescent hormones, alive and sane wasn’t challenging enough. 

Angel just couldn’t help it. There were a lot of things in his world to get overprotective about. And Connor had a knack for finding them, or being found _by_ them. Most of the things Angel and Connor and the others dealt with on a daily basis were the kind of things normal parents hoped their children would never know anything about. If the parents themselves were even aware of them. Angel would almost feel selfish for keeping the boy with him all this time, despite the danger, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew no one else was more capable of raising Connor, and of teaching him how to survive that danger and triumph over it.

Which sounded good, obviously. But didn’t hold as much weight as an argument for Angel’s right to parent when his son was getting sucked into the sky by a huge frickin’ portal.

Angel’s arms went limp as Connor disappeared, letting the woman Connor had shoved into them stumble on her feet. Gunn and Fred skidded to a halt behind him, Fred with her arms full of the supplies they’d brought along in case they were too late, and had to spell the woman back from the dimension Lindsey’s vision had seen her getting portalled into. Gunn threw out an arm as Ryan caught up with them, to stop the other boy from running after Connor and getting taken by the portal himself.

“Connor!” Ryan yelled, struggling to get around Gunn and do just that.

“Stay back!” Gunn told him, as Fred hurriedly unloaded the magic supplies from her arms to the ground, rushing to help Angel handle the dazed woman they’d just saved.

“Gunn, we have to-” Angel began to say something, then abruptly stopped - as the portal above them suddenly shuddered…

And then winked out of existence.

“No!” Ryan screamed, making one last - useless - attempt to break free from Gunn’s hold.

Angel lost his grip on the woman completely.

Fred helped her ease into a sitting position on the ground. She turned, wide-eyed, to Gunn, meeting his concerned gaze with one of her own. 

“We’ll get him back,” Gunn was saying to Ryan, obviously around a lump of worry in his throat. “Fred’ll work her mojo, we’ll open another portal, and we’ll get him back. Just like we planned.”

Except that the plan had involved rescuing some nameless, faceless woman they’d only come for because of a vision. Not someone they’d each helped raise, in some small way, since Connor had been just a baby. All except for Ryan, who stood to lose no less than any of them if they couldn’t get Connor back. Connor was Ryan’s only friend. And the two boys had become more like brothers over the years since Ryan had come to live at the Hyperion than anything else.

Fred busied herself with calming the woman sobbing on her shoulder, so she wouldn’t have to look up and see Angel’s reaction to all of this.

“We’ll get him back,” Gunn repeated, gripping Ryan by the shoulders to make him listen.

He almost jumped as Angel turned sharply on his heels and brushed by them, headed for the supplies Fred had set down.

“We’re going to get him back now,” Angel agreed. Only when he said it, it sounded less like a reassurance. And more like a promise.

Ryan eventually nodded. He agreed to take care of the woman they’d come after, so that Fred could take over the spell Angel was gathering their supplies for. The spell that was supposed to reopen the portal whose gravitation Connor had fallen into.

Gunn took a moment to call the hotel and let the others in on what was going on, then took a seat on one ledge of the rooftop. And silently prayed that Connor would be with them by the time the sun rose and they had to leave it.

 

~+[]+~

 

“Get down!” Wesley didn’t expect to be listened to. He expected the fool boy who had appeared on the rooftop out of nowhere to try and run, thus giving the Mawoth demon another target. And Wesley one more thing to worry about.

So going for a clean kill was out of the question. Only a firm blow to the back of the neck would kill the Mawoth, and that would take working towards. In case the Mawoth decided the boy would make a better meal than Wesley, Wesley couldn’t give the demon the chance of getting to him. Wesley would have to immobilize it. 

Which would be even less fun than killing it would have been. From having battled, evidently, this Mawoth’s mate, Wesley knew that the creatures had dangerously sharp claws. They had an impressive reach. And Wesley would have to come well within it to get at the demon’s kneecaps. The wings would be an even greater challenge, so Wesley would worry with those after.

As Wesley rushed at the Mawoth, taking his first swipe at its legs, the beast emitted a high-pitched shriek. 

Wesley gritted his teeth, just barely escaping one arch of the Mawoth’s right claws. Wesley _knew_ that shriek. The other Mawoth had made similar sounds just before it had begun to roar in earnest. The roars were, apparently, a defensive mechanism. They were nearly deafening by the time Wesley had gotten in his killing blow.

Wesley’s head was still pounding from his run-in with _one_ Mawoth. And now it’s mate was proceeding to destroy what few, working brain cells Wesley had left in his head. On a normal night, Wesley would be glad to gain a few moments of peace from Illyria‘s absence. Tonight he felt imprudent for having sent the god-king away from him. Spike had gone after the Boretz demon that had gone on a rampage downtown, and Angel had made it clear that he couldn’t be bothered with killing demons, when there were evil board meetings to attend. 

Wesley accepted that there were no limits to the depths to which his evening could sink…

And then a bullet flew past his ear, sinking into the Mowath’s torso as Wesley’s axe took a satisfying slice out of the demon’s left shin.

Wesley could spare only a moment’s glance, and with it he saw the boy he’d told to duck and hide standing a few feet away, holding Wesley’s shotgun.

The night sunk a bit further, in Wesley’s estimation.

“No. Don-”

That moment was a moment too long. The Mowath took advantage of it to strike at Wesley with his left claws. Wesley threw himself to the side, taking the hit with his left shoulder, and hissing as the Mowath’s claws cut through his clothes and flesh. Wesley hit the ground on his right shoulder hard, grunting as he felt something there shift.

That was the least of his worries, however. The Mowath, distracted, let out another shriek - this one sounding more guttural than before. It leapt at the boy. It couldn’t leap quite as far as it could have had Wesley not injured one of its legs, but it made up for strength with speed by using its wings to propel it forward. It landed in front of the boy, as he pumped the shotgun into it once more. 

The shot hit the demon in the chest. The Mowath paid it no attention. It’s loud shriek became a low, rattling roar. 

Wesley hurried to his feet, lifting his axe with some difficulty. His heart leapt in his chest at the sight of the Mowath standing so close to the boy, expecting the demon to strike any moment and take the boy’s head off. 

If he had been paying attention, Wesley might have seen Connor shrug.

“Didn’t think that was gonna work,” he was saying, nonchalantly. Connor flipped the shotgun over in his hands and wielded it like a baseball bat. The demon had paused, seeming to sniff the air. “So let’s try this my way.”

Just as Connor lifted the shotgun, the demon let out a sound unlike any he’d heard before. It sounded like a lion had mated with a wooly mammoth, and the offspring was _really_ pissed off. Connor would swear the demon’s roar had made the ground shake.

Connor was certainly shaken. He stumbled. The demon batted the shotgun out of his hands and, unexpectedly, bent over. It wrapped it’s claws around one of Connor’s ankles and lifted him into the air, then flipped him over and around. Connor landed bent over on his back in the monster’s grasp.

“Okay… Let’s not,” Connor grunted, struggling to shift into a position where he could get at the demon’s face.

The demon roared again. Connor involuntarily arched and screamed, covering his ears. The demon had lifted one set of claws in the air, over Connor’s heart…

Wesley leapt at the Mowath’s back. If he noticed the sudden flash of white light that surrounded them all, he was too preoccupied in slicing at the back of the Mowath’s neck to worry about it. Wesley’s blade cut through the demon’s spine exactly where Wesley needed it to. 

Once the world around them had shuddered and changed, the Mowath began to fall, with Wesley still straddling it’s back, his feet planted on either curve of the Mowath’s extended wings. Connor tumbled out of the Mowath’s claws and rolled out of its way.

Stopping right at his father’s feet.

 

~+[]+~

 

“It’s not working,” Ryan said, a muscle working in his lower jaw.

“It’s working,” Gunn told him, in the tone of voice he always used to repeat things to the teenaged members of their family. 

Angel was kneeling next to Fred, looking between her pale face and the clear night’s sky and back.

“Fred?”

Her chanting had died down to an occasional whispering of the appropriate Shindarin. She frowned, shaking her head slightly.

“I… I can feel it working. I can feel Connor there, he’s just…”

Angel waited for her to finish, but she didn’t. She began to whisper another incantation of the spell to open the portal that had taken Connor. 

“He’s what, Fred?” Angel eventually asked. He was trying to patient. He really was. He didn’t like the look of Fred’s drawn face, or the way she nearly swayed on her knees. If it had been any other spell they were casting, Angel would have made her back off and forget it twenty minutes ago. The spell wasn’t supposed to take this much time, or this much of Fred’s energy.

“He’s… I don’t think he’s alone,” Fred said quietly. Angel did not like the sound of that.

“Well, the night’s not getting any younger,” Gunn said. Angel looked at him, but Gunn was watching Fred, not the nearly pre-dawn sky. He wasn’t happy the spell had gone on this long, either. 

Angel’s mouth thinned into a grim line.

“Can you get him back…without hurting him?” Angel wouldn’t say “intact”. He wasn’t even going to think it.

“Yes, but-”

“Then do it.”

“Angel, we might-”

“Do it, Fred.”

Angel didn’t like the thought of dragging some big ugly from the other dimension back with Connor. But he didn’t like the thought of leaving Connor over there to deal with it himself, either. Of course, it was possible that whatever or whoever had gotten caught in the spell with Connor wasn’t big or ugly. And Angel shouldn’t risk possibly harming them. But with Connor’s luck…

The “whatever or whoever” was probably eight-foot tall and had horns in unfortunate places. 

“Do it, Fred,” Angel repeated. Eventually, Fred nodded. She sighed. Then began to chant anew, activating the final part of the spell - the part that would drag Connor back from wherever the portal had taken him.

There was a flash of bright white, and a strong breeze picked up in front of them. Then Angel was grabbing onto Fred with all his vampiric speed, and hurtling the both of them out of the way as what they’d brought back with Connor appeared nearly right on top op them. 

It was a demon. It wasn’t eight-foot tall and it didn’t have horns.

But it had wings, and claws, and it had Connor caught between them. He was bent slightly backwards and clutching his head, as the demon positioned one set of claws just over his heart. 

The demon had landed on top of the pestle the portal-opening spell had required, crushing it.

“What the-”

“Angel…”

There were various reactions from Gunn, Ryan, and Fred at the sight of it all. Angel just moved Fred aside, prepared to rush at the demon.

Then they heard the echo of its last roar.

The sound was strong enough to knock them all off their feet, and to send the woman they’d rescued earlier - who had somewhat calmed down as they’d waited for Fred’s spell to be complete - running, screaming, for the stairs to take her off the rooftop. 

Angel looked up, frantic, from where he’d fallen to his knees. The demon stretched its claws high into the air, ready to strike down at Connor.

“ _No_!” the broken protest came from Angel, certain he couldn’t move fast enough to get to Connor. He had no weapon to defend them with, even if he could.

Then, unfathomably, the creature jerked, as if it had been struck from behind. 

It began to topple, and it’s claws went limp, releasing Connor as it did.

He rolled out of it’s way, ending up on his back in front of Angel.

“Dad,” he said simply, blinking as he caught his breath. 

Angel nearly choked on an unnecessary breath of his own.

“Oh my God…”

Before Angel could respond, or scoop Connor into an embrace that was certain to embarrass the boy - as Angel was bound to do - he heard Gunn’s uncharacteristically shaky exclamation.

Angel looked in the direction Gunn was looking. To where the demon had completely fallen forward on its front. A man stood on its back, balancing himself between it’s wings. He was pulling an axe out of the demon, having presumably put it there after he and the demon were caught in the spell they’d cast for Connor. His dark clothes and brown leather jacket were stained with the same fluid leaking out of the wound on the back of the demon’s neck. Three long, frightfully deep-looking gashes in his left shoulder were bleeding. He held his right arm to his side stiffly - walking from the demon onto the rooftop smoothly, despite the sway in his step caused by blood-loss and, no doubt, exertion.

Angel rose to his feet, giving Connor a hand and bringing him up, also. He kept Connor close by his side and shook his head, fighting the irrational urge to smile. 

They hadn’t just brought a demon along with Connor from the other dimension - they’d brought another human, as well. With the pestle and its contents destroyed, Angel wasn’t sure how they would help him get back. _If_ they could help him get back. But Connor was _alive_. He was home. And this man was part of the reason why.

Angel opened his mouth to say something to him, either in thanks or apology…

Then stopped. As he realized why Gunn had sounded shaky, and why he was being so quiet now.

The man’s face was familiar… It took Angel a moment to realize why. He looked only a couple of years older than Angel remembered him…although it had been nearly eighteen years since Angel had seen him last. His face was stubbled and his hair was cut differently; he wasn’t wearing glasses, but there was no doubt he was-

“Wesley?” Gunn asked, at last.

Angel couldn’t take his eyes off of Wesley’s face. He felt as if another portal had opened up under him.

“Wes,” he repeated.

Then Angel was rushing forward and taking Wesley into his arms, to keep the other man from hitting the ground as he lost consciousness and fell forward.


End file.
